Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and turned his attention back to Mrs. Dumphry and the others. They were huddled under the overhang of a large black bolder, discussing the best way to enter the city. When Arthur saw the look in Mrs. Dumphry’s eyes, his heart sank even further.
She’s afraid, he realized. It made him feel more terrified than ever. He’d seen his teacher face impossible odds, but he had never seen her look like this before.
“Mrs. Dumphry,” Arthur interrupted, “can we really save Alexia?”
Mrs. Dumphry turned to look at the city. When she spoke, her voice was grave. “I do not know, child, but we must try. If we fail, the war will be lost and the entire world will become like this city. It will be a world of shadows and monsters.”
“I don’t understand!” Alexia pleaded. “What just happened? Was that really Mrs. Dumphry?”
“Yes,” Belial said, “it was.” He offered a hand and waited until Alexia took it. Together they walked toward one of the many exits of the throne room. “I needed you to see the truth, my lady. I needed you to understand the unfairness of it all.”
Belial turned and knelt before Alexia. “The woman you know as Mrs. Dumphry used to be the queen of this city, and her rule extended over much of the world. And as you saw, I was her most trusted adviser. Though it was she who killed the poet with her own hands, they named me Assassin.”
Alexia didn’t care who had killed the poet; she just hated that he’d been killed. He had seemed so kind. “Wait.” Alexia stopped. “I thought they named you Assassin because you killed someone they call the Author?”
Belial shook his head sadly. “The poet and the Author are one and the same, my lady. They are but two names for the same man.”
“I don’t understand! Aren’t the Awakened following this Author person? Isn’t he their leader?”
“Yes,” Belial said. “Now you know the whole truth. They follow a poet who died thousands of years ago. What’s worse is that Mrs. Dumphry is one of their leaders. And you saw her kill the man with your own eyes.”
It doesn’t make sense! But she had seen it. Even if she wished Belial hadn’t told Mrs. Dumphry to kill the poet, the man was dead. And who would follow a dead man?
“We are done for today,” Belial said. “If you still wish to go and see those who stand against us, those you name as your friends, then go. But remember what you saw. And remember that you have promised to follow me in all things.”
Alexia nodded. As she walked from the throne room, she felt sick to her stomach.
Five thousand and twenty-four years earlier
Jack watched the horrific scene play out in front of him. The queen, the much younger Mrs. Dumphry, pulled her golden knife from the poet’s side and dropped it to the floor. Behind her, the Assassin let out a bloodcurdling laugh. As the blood of the poet dripped onto the marble, the queen sank to her knees in front of him.
“No,” she said shakily. “What have I done? Please forgive me!”
The gathered crowd shrieked as they fled the throne room. Time was screaming at the top of her lungs as tears streamed down her face. Jack couldn’t tear his eyes away from the poet in the patchwork cloak. He had dropped to his knees and was holding a hand to the wound in his side. He reached out with his free hand and placed it on the side of the queen’s face, then whispered something Jack couldn’t hear. Whatever he said caused the queen to gasp and weep all the harder.
Throughout the chamber the fires began to extinguish themselves as the room decayed into darkness. Yet it was only dark for a moment. At the center of the chamber, a shadowed light began to pulse. It was faint at first, but grew brighter with each surge. The light is coming from the Assassin, Jack realized.
The pulsing darkness revealed the Assassin in all his glory. His humanness was gone and he had been transformed into the creature Jack had seen many times before. His eyes were caverns of fire and his skin sparkled like diamonds.
The poet still lived but had lost much blood. He was incredibly pale, lying on his back on the marble floor. The queen knelt beside him, weeping.
Only Jack and Time remained. Time was no longer screaming, but stood stiffly by his side, weeping. Jack scooped her into his arms and carried her behind a nearby pillar. When he looked again, he saw the Assassin standing over the poet.
“Was this the best you could do?” the Assassin snarled. “Before this world was born, you brought a child to the Sacred Mountain. You told me the child would destroy me.” The Assassin raised his fist. “But what child could stand against me when the most powerful queen willingly does my bidding? You have lost! I have turned the humans against you! Do you hear? I have already won!”
The queen was on her knees, watching the Assassin with a look of horror. Aias ignored the gaping wound on his face. Moving like a viper, he drew his black sword and leaped at the Assassin. Jack recognized the blade. It was Ashandar, the same sword now buckled at Jack’s waist. Aias screamed as he swung Ashandar with all his might.
The blade ricocheted off the Assassin’s neck as if Aias had struck stone.
The Assassin turned to face a stunned Aias. “You are a worm standing before a god,” he rasped as liquid evil exploded into Aias’s chest and sent him flying into the darkness. When the Assassin turned to face the queen, he offered a cold smile.
“You have done well,” he said. “Bow before me now and I will spare your life. Prostrate yourself and swear to serve me always, and I will give you more power than you have ever known!”
The queen’s eyes stayed locked on the poet as she stood. The pool of blood he was lying in was growing larger by the second. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Who was he really? And why did you tell me to kill him?”
“In Siyyon, the world where I was born, we called him Author,” the Assassin said. “I suppose you could say he was my father, that he was the father of all worlds.” The Assassin knelt beside the dying poet and rummaged through his patchwork cloak, pulling out a carved wooden box and a shiny feathered pen.
“One day, I was walking along the Great River near the Sacred Mountain.” The Assassin twisted the wooden box as he spoke. “And when I bent down to drink, I saw my reflection. In that moment I realized something. The Author was not all-powerful as I had supposed. He could not possibly be! For what being would create something more majestic than itself? And in that moment I decided in my heart to kill him.”
Jack heard a click as the Assassin twisted the box again and a small hole appeared in the top. He stuck the feathered pen into the hole, and as it went inside, it acted as a key, opening a door in the top of the box. Jack couldn’t see if anything was inside.
The Assassin screamed and slammed his fist hard against the Author’s chest. The Author gasped as his body jerked violently. With ravenous eyes, the Assassin bent low and whispered in his ear.
Jack couldn’t hear what the Assassin said, but he recognized the box. When he’d looked into the strange map—the Masc Tinneas—in the schoolhouse in Ballylesson, Jack had seen Parker and his father running from a vast darkness, Parker clutching the box as he ran.
The Assassin rose triumphantly. He placed the box inside his cloak and dropped the feathered pen. He stared down at the poet’s dead body and began to laugh. The laugh grew louder and louder. “IT IS FINISHED!” he screamed, throwing his arms wide.
The Assassin’s words echoed through the throne room, and hundreds of dark tendrils rose from the marble floor. They slithered upward to swirl around the Assassin’s feet, thickening into larger tentacles.
“The Shadowfog,” Jack whispered.
“THE AUTHOR IS DEAD!” the Assassin screamed. “TAKE THE CITY!” The Shadowfog blanketed the floor, forming an ocean of darkness as it flowed from the chamber and into the palace.
The screaming started almost immediately. Hundreds of people, thousands of them, shrieking and wailing as the Shadowfog
rushed over them and out into the streets.
The Assassin knelt beside the poet’s body and placed a large vial on the marble floor.
“Rathule Magasulem!” He pointed at the pool of blood surrounding the poet. The blood began to ripple as it came together. “Radakcha!” He pointed at the vial and the blood flowed inside. Careful not to touch the top, the Assassin snatched the bottle and corked it, then placed it carefully inside his cloak.
When he stood to face the queen, a dangerous light shone in his eyes. “Bow before me,” he said. “Vow to serve me always and I will give you a seat at my right hand.”
Chapter 19
A DIMMING LIGHT
Six years earlier
Only one day after the successful pilfering of Belfast’s central market, Alexia and her Gang of Rogues were back. This time their mission was far simpler—to steal a little hay and grain to feed the animals they’d taken the day before.
As they walked to the market, Alexia had been proud to see her “Wanted” poster stuck to every lamppost. Each time she saw her face on a poster, she smiled. It made her feel important and dangerous.
Someone inside the market started to scream. Alexia and her friends rose on tiptoes to see what was happening, but they were too short. There were more screams—something was happening on the other side of the market and people began to flee.
Josiah didn’t hesitate. While the shopkeeper’s attention was turned to the screams, he grabbed a large bale of hay from a nearby stall. Benaiah stole a bucket of grain. Both boys turned and walked quickly in the direction of a nearby alley. One by one the others also stole some hay or grain and slipped away. Alexia hesitated; whatever was happening had piqued her curiosity.
“We got what we came for!” Juno tugged her sleeve. “Let’s go before someone catches us!”
Alexia shook her head. “I’m going to stay. You take the others back to the hideout. I’ll join you in a few minutes. I want to see what’s going on!”
Juno rolled her eyes before disappearing into the alley. Alexia darted toward the center of the market. All around her, men, women, and children sprinted in the opposite direction. It was chaos like nothing she’d seen before. Shopkeepers abandoned their wares and fled. Every last person was desperate to escape what was coming.
Alexia climbed onto a shopkeeper’s table to get a better look. What she saw took her breath away—a large elephant pulling a covered wagon was galloping through the packed marketplace. And Alexia was the only one not screaming.
Excitement shone in her eyes as the mammoth beast galloped toward her, destroying everything in its path. Fruit and vegetable stands went flying, and hanging slabs of meat dropped to the dusty ground. Stalls filled with clothing, lamps, glassware, candles, chickens, goats, pastries, and almost everything imaginable were smashed aside by the elephant and the wagon. The elephant’s eyes were rolled back, showing only the whites.
What on earth is an elephant doing here? She hadn’t been this excited since the day she’d learned how to skin a rabbit with one hand. Alexia had always had a way with animals. Whether wild or tame, they seemed to like her. So she had no doubt this elephant would be the same. She threw her crimson cloak over her shoulders and fully extended one arm with palm outstretched.
“Ha!” she yelled as loudly as she could. “Stop right there!”
If anything, the elephant sped up slightly.
“I said, Stop!” Alexia screamed as fear threatened to overcome her excitement. And still the beast crashed ever closer.
“Oh, no.” But it was too late. Before she could so much as turn around, the elephant was on her. The beast whipped its massive head to the side and slammed a tusk against her body. She felt at least three ribs crack as she hurtled over five stalls to land in the middle of a pigsty.
Bruised and angry, Alexia struggled to stand as she wiped mud from her eyes. When she turned to see where the elephant had gone, she froze. The covered wagon had upended and burst apart.
The stunned elephant and destroyed wagon were not what worried Alexia. It was the two dizzy and agitated lions that were struggling to rise. The beasts had been caged in the back of the wagon and both were now free, watching Alexia with hungry eyes.
The lions were identical except for the color of their manes; one was black and one golden. The golden-maned lion had a fresh cut on its shoulder and a wild look in its eyes. The terrified elephant stood a few paces away, still connected to the upended cart.
Lions and elephants roaming the streets of Belfast! It’s not possible!
The black-maned lion roared loudly, baring its teeth. The two beasts were now on opposite sides of Alexia, so she needed to move continuously to keep them in sight. But there was nowhere to go. When the golden lion behind her roared, the black-maned lion attacked.
In sheer panic, she squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists, waiting for the beasts to collide with her. Yet besides the sudden burst of wind that ripped at her clothes, there was … nothing. Ever so slowly Alexia opened her eyes. Both lions were sprawled on the ground on either side of her, lying motionless, as if dead.
“What?” Alexia turned to see the elephant, goats, cows, pigs, and chickens all lying on the ground. Every animal she could see—
They’re dead! The thought made her want to cry. What happened? How could all of them have died at the exact same time? It was too horrible to imagine. She knelt and placed a hand on the head of the golden-maned lion. As her fingers touched its fur, the mighty beast let out a soft purr.
Alexia screamed as she jumped back. Though she was relieved it was alive, she didn’t want to be too close. It was still a lion, after all. The second lion opened its eyes groggily, and when it looked at Alexia, it also began to purr.
After spotting a spool of twine in the wreckage of a nearby shop, Alexia quickly fashioned a leash around each beast’s neck while they were still dazed. She took the end of the twine and tied it to the ruined wagon wheel. “There!” She smiled. “That should keep them from eating me.”
As the rest of the animals in the marketplace began to move, Alexia walked over to get a better look at the elephant. It was no longer panicked but seemed to be completely at peace. As she approached, an image formed unbidden in her mind—she saw herself standing before the elephant, shining as bright as the sun. The image was so clear it made her stop and gape. She shook her head to clear her thoughts.
A number of men on horseback galloped into the marketplace, led by a man in a royal blue cloak whose clothes were made of hundreds of patches. Not the tattered patches of a poet, though—these patches were the color of gold, silver, copper, and iron, and each sparkled and shimmered as he moved. On the man’s head was a ridiculously tall hat.
“What’s this, then? What has happened here?” He leaped from his horse. “Who are you, child, and what have you done to my animals?” The man strutted to the lions, inspecting them closely as he pulled on the twine and examined the knots. Next he sauntered to the elephant and peered into its eyes.
“I didn’t do anything!” Alexia hated being referred to as a child. “Your elephant nearly trampled the whole market before I stopped it!”
The man turned slowly, taking in the sight of the animals and the destroyed marketplace.
“You … stopped the elephant?” he asked. “You captured the lions?” He had an astonished look in his eyes as he glanced at her hand resting on the elephant’s trunk.
Alexia wasn’t sure what happened, but she would not allow this man to accuse her.
“Your lions didn’t tie themselves up.” She made herself meet his eyes.
The man let out a thunderous laugh. “Girl, my name is Julius Argentine Samuelsson the Third, and I am the circus master of the most spectacular circus on earth. But you may call me Julius.”
Alexia stared at the circus master’s outstretched hand. She’d not told anyone her real na
me for more than two years now. “My name is Blade,” she said coldly, “and if you call me ‘girl’ or ‘child’ again, you will regret it.”
The circus master bowed his head respectfully. “Blade, is it? What an interesting and, dare I say, dangerous name.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, Blade, if I am not mistaken you are quite the remarkable gir”—he stopped himself and tipped his hat—“quite the remarkable young woman. As we rode in, I saw your picture pinned on half the lampposts in Belfast. But whatever the police want with you is not my concern.” The circus master bent low to look her in the eyes. “What would you say if I offered you a job in my circus? You could spend your days with the elephants. You could clean up after them and help me keep them calm.”
Alexia didn’t know what to say. She’d always dreamed of seeing the circus, and spending time with elephants whenever she wanted was too good to be true! For just a moment she thought of her Gang of Rogues. But Alexia knew she couldn’t stay in Belfast, not with Korah still looking for her.
“Agreed,” she said, shaking the circus master’s hand.
Present day
Alexia shivered as the Shadule led her into the dungeons below the coliseum. The creature didn’t seem nearly so evil as it once had. In fact, there was something graceful about the way it moved.
No! Alexia couldn’t believe she’d just had the thought. It was a Shadule that had tried to kill her more than once. She’d almost died fighting—and killing—one of them in the battle of Agartha. It had been a Shadule that killed her parents.
Alexia stopped. Her father wasn’t dead. True, he was nothing like she remembered, but he was alive. Why did she keep thinking of him as if he were dead? She might not like her father very much, but she finally had a family. She could finally belong to someone. It’s all she’d wanted since her fifth birthday.
If that’s true, why does it feel so terrible? she wondered.
Jack Staples and the City of Shadows Page 13
